Виктория Холт - Castile for Isabella

There was a degree of consanguinity between Isabella and Ferdinand, and therefore, before they could marry, it was necessary to procure a dispensation from the Pope.

Since this had not yet come to her, Isabella appealed to the Archbishop of Toledo.

‘I fear,’ she said, ‘that we must postpone the marriage.’

‘Postpone the marriage!’ cried the Archbishop in amazement. ‘That is impossible. If we postpone it, I can say with certainty it will never take place. Your brother and my nephew will take good care that we never again get as near to it as we are now.’

‘There is one thing of the utmost importance which you have forgotten. The dispensation has not yet come from the Pope.’

The Archbishop was genuinely alarmed, but he gave no sign of this. He wondered whether it was possible to get a dispensation from the Pope, who was the friend of Henry and Villena.

‘Would you marry Ferdinand if the Pope refused the dispensation?’ asked the Archbishop cautiously.

‘It would be impossible,’ replied Isabella. ‘How could I marry without it?’

‘The marriage would be binding.’

‘We should be censured by Holy Church. How could we hope for a successful marriage if we began it by opposing the ecclesiastical canons?’

The Archbishop paused. Here was a new light on Isabella’s character. Devout, he had always known her to be. Well, others were devout – inasmuch as they attended Mass regularly and did not ignore the tenets of the Church. But who would allow the rules of the Church to come between them and their desires? Isabella would, it seemed.

The Archbishop made a quick decision.

‘Have no fear,’ he said. ‘We shall have the dispensation in good time. I have made all concerned aware of the urgency.’

‘My good friend,’ murmured Isabella, ‘what should I do without you?’

The Archbishop returned her smile. He hoped she would remember those words and not seek to take his power from him and bestow it on Ferdinand.

* * *

In his private apartments the Archbishop was writing. He wrote slowly and with the utmost care.

Eventually he laid down his pen and studied what he had written.

It was a perfect dispensation. Isabella would never doubt that it had come from the Pope.

The Archbishop shrugged his shoulders.

There were times when bold men had to take matters into their own hands. He had to lead the heiress of Castile and Leon the way she must go; and that way was through marriage with Ferdinand. And if Isabella was too scrupulous a woman of the Church, there must be times when a little deceit must be employed.

The Archbishop rolled up the scroll and went to Isabella’s apartments.

‘I have great joy in telling Your Highness that the dispensation has arrived.’

‘Oh, how happy that makes me!’ Isabella held out a hand and the Archbishop handed her the scroll.

He watched her anxiously while she glanced at it; but she was too happy to study it with very much attention.

He took it from her and rolled it up.

‘Is it not wonderful,’ she said, ‘how one by one obstacles are removed from our paths. I was afraid even at this late hour that something would happen to prevent the marriage. The Holy Father is very much the friend of my brother and the Marquis, and I was filled with fear that he might refuse the dispensation. But God has moved his heart – and we have it. It often seems to me that it is the Divine will that Ferdinand and I should marry, for it would appear that whenever we are faced with what might be insuperable obstacles, miracles happen.’

The Archbishop bowed his head. He was a man who believed that when Divine Providence failed to provide the holy miracle, an earthly one devised by shrewd men could be substituted.

* * *

In the hall of the house of Juan de Vivero many had assembled to watch the wedding ceremony performed by the Archbishop of Toledo.

The hall had been as richly decorated as was possible, but this might have been the wedding of the daughter of a petty nobleman. It seemed incredible that it could be that of the prospective Queen of Castile.

But it was the best that could be done on borrowed money and in such haste; and if the radiance of jewels and fine brocades was missing, its absence seemed unimportant on account of the shining happiness on the faces of the bride and groom.

They looked beautiful – so young, so healthy and handsome. Surely, said the observers, this hasty marriage was the most romantic that had ever taken place in Spain. And if there would not be the celebrations which usually heralded and followed such ceremonies, what did it matter? At last Castile and Aragon were united; and the townsfolk of Valladolid shouted themselves hoarse with delight when the handsome pair left the house to go to Mass and later dined in public that all might see them and bear witness to the joy they had in each other.

* * *

There came that time when they were alone together, and their contentment with each other was not abated.

Ferdinand, experienced young man of the world, and Isabella a little apprehensive, but so ready to follow where he should lead her!

Ferdinand believed that he would mould this woman to his way of thinking. His Isabella was a paragon of many virtues. She was virginal yet passionate; she was possessed of great dignity, yet she was his to command.

‘I did not know,’ he said, ‘that such good fortune could be mine.’

‘I knew,’ said Isabella. And she smiled that slow dedicated smile, thinking of all the vicissitudes of her hazardous life which only her courage and her belief in her future had made victory over those circumstances possible.

No, Isabella was not surprised that at last she had married the man of her choice, and that he promised to be all for which she had hoped.

She believed firmly that it had always been intended that this should be so.

‘Ferdinand,’ she said, ‘we will work together always. We shall be as one. All I have is yours; all you have is mine. Is that not wonderful to contemplate?’

Ferdinand kissed her with rising passion and said that it was indeed – for she had so much more to offer than he had.

‘Isabella,’ he said, ‘my wife, my love! What a truly wonderful thing it is that in addition to all your beauty, all your virtue, you should also have... Castile. But,’ he added, ‘even if you were not the future Queen of Castile, if you were a serving-wench in a tavern, I should love you still, Isabella. Would you love me if I could not bring you Aragon?’

He did not wait for an answer. He was so sure of his ability to conquer her.

But Isabella was thoughtful. She loved him with all her heart, but she did not think it would be possible for the future Queen of Castile to love a tavern man.

Ferdinand had lifted her into his arms. He was so strong that he could do this easily; and his warm breath was on her cheek.

There was no need to answer Ferdinand’s questions, for she was swept into a new adventure which overwhelmed her senses and subdued her dignity and her love of truth – temporarily.

Ferdinand, the adventurer, the man of action, believed himself to be the all-conquering male to whom the weak female must ever be subservient.

Isabella was subconsciously aware of this. Her marriage must be perfect; in the council and in the bedchamber there must be continued harmony.

Thus at the time she was pliant, so eager to learn, so earnestly anxious to please. It was certain that in the bedchamber Ferdinand must be master; he must be the one to lead her step by step along the diverse sensuous paths.

Ferdinand had often told himself that even though Isabella was the future Queen of Castile she was also a woman. He did not know that although she was a woman, she would never forget that she was the future Queen of Castile.

The first news of the marriage which reached Henry was brought by Isabella’s messenger.

He read his half-sister’s letter and trembled.

‘But this,’ he moaned, ‘was exactly what we wished to prevent. Now we shall have Aragon against us. Oh, what an unlucky man I am! I wish I had never been born to be King of Castile.’

He hesitated before showing Isabella’s letter to Villena, dreading the storm that it would arouse.

He let the letter drop from his hands, and fell to dreaming. He wished that he had not rid himself of Blanche. He thought of poor Blanche. How dreadful her last days must have been in the château of Ortes. Did she know that plans to murder her were afoot?

‘And if she had stayed in Castile, she would be alive now,’ he murmured. ‘And should I be worse off? I should not have my daughter... but is she mine? She is still known throughout the Court as La Beltraneja. Poor little girl! What trials await her!’

Henry shook his head. It was a sad fate to be born as she had been born, to be the centre of controversy over a throne. There had been Alfonso...

If he had not rid himself of Blanche, if he had tried to lead a better life, he would have been a happier man. Now there was nothing but scandal and conflict.

His Queen, Joanna, had left him and was living scandalously in Madrid. He was constantly hearing stories about her adventures. She had had many lovers and there were several illegitimate children of these unions.

Never had a man so urgently desired to live in peace; never had a man been so consistently denied it.